


The Road Ahead Is Long

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 11:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14401551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Post season 11, meeting Jackson.





	The Road Ahead Is Long

They meet in an abandoned warehouse in a small town with a name she can’t remember. Jackson is folded into the shadows. It smells of piss and mildew. She covers her nose and mouth. Mulder stands beside her, she bears the weight of her own tension in her neck but she hears his grinding his bones to powder.

“You came.”

“You’re alive,” she says. “Of course we came.”

Mulder makes a noise from the pit of his throat, dips his head. “How have you been?”

Jackson steps forward and he’s all angles and jerky movements, uncontained. She thinks fleetingly of Mulder on his bad days, the days where he was over having a gun pointed to his head, or a deal broken or his sister lost again. Jackson’s head turns this way and that, checking, wary. “Oh, you know. Pretty good for a dead guy. But you’d know all about that, dad.”

“Is there something you need, Jackson?” Scully asks, but she regrets the tone as soon as it’s out.

His arm flies up to his forehead, and his laugh cuts across the foul air. “Is there something I need? Is there something, well, fuck, mom, how about some freedom, how about some answers, how about some good old apple pie and ice cream?”

“Jackson,” Mulder says, stepping forward, but the boy jumps back, both arms flailing.

“No, don’t touch me. I don’t want you to touch me. You don’t know me. You think you do, but you don’t.” He looks from Mulder to her and his eyes soften a little. His arms fix to sides and he lets his head flop forward, his hair falling over his face. At once, he is soft, malleable. “I’ve been running since like forever and I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t want to run. I want to live. I want you to help me to live.” He slips to the floor, boneless.

Scully wills herself to move forward, she wills herself to wrap her arms around him, this boy who is her son. Her son who has been in her dreams and prayers for 17 years. Her son who is breaking into pieces before her eyes. She can put him back together again. She can. She just needs him to want her to.

“Jackson,” she whispers. “It’s okay. We’re here. We’re here to listen. To help.” She kneels, aware of the cold cement against her, loops both hands around his neck, pulls him to her chest. He sobs and sobs.

There’s time for a couple of cars to pass, their headlights sweeping the space around them, highlighting the vast emptiness. Mulder squats behind her, shoulder against her arm. “We should go, get to the motel. We have a couple of rooms booked, Jackson.”

Their son looks up then, his face suddenly young, like a child, ruddy cheeks, sticky tear tracks black with dirt. She resists the urge to lick a thumb and clean him. Instead, she stands and he moves up with her.

“You don’t want this baby.” His accusation cuts, but leaves only surface scratches. She glances at Mulder. He breathes in, nostrils flaring, chin tilting away slightly. He’s said the same thing to her, and she hasn’t denied it.

“We should go,” she says.

“But this baby is yours, his.” Jackson nods at Mulder. “Isn’t this the fairytale ending for you? The miracle you’ve been looking for?”

Outside the air is surprisingly warm but she still shivers. Mulder unlocks the car and the flash of amber lights startles her. When they drive away she hears Jackson drop his head back against the seat. She turns to him and in the glow from the street she sees the patchy stubble on his chin, the angle of his cheeks, the shape of his nose. He’s fitted together from parts of her and Mulder and no matter what that lying black-lunged bastard said, she’ll always know the truth.

“You don’t want this baby,” he says again.

Mulder taps the steering wheel and she sees the vein in his temple flex.

“You’re tired,” he says. “I can feel it. Tired and afraid.”

“Jackson…”

“I know how that feels. The fear, I mean. It just fucks you around. It lives in your head and your stomach and your heart and it’s cold and it’s hot and it fucking hurts.” He pummels the arm rest. “I’m so tired.”

She reaches out to touch his arm and he releases his hands from his face. He’s that young child again. Just a boy, her son, their son. “We are tired, Jackson. We’re tired and we’re afraid. We don’t have the answers yet. But we’ll find them.”

The road ahead is long. Trees line each side, reaching to the torrid skies. It’s wet and in the dark it’s an ethereal beauty, a siren call. They could just drive and drive. They should. They will. The road ahead is long.


End file.
